Page 7 of Late Nights & Love Lines
“If you need anything, I’ll be around, getting the camp in shape. It needs a lot of work, but when I’m done, it’s going to be amazing. Anyway, the fastest route to the house is the Tabby Trail. It runs behind the activities center and drops you right at the property.” He points to the side of the building. “Go outside and take a left, you can’t miss it.”
The key scorches my palm. Freaking twenty-two. If I adopt one more superstition, I might need to seek out a support group, but the number twenty-two always, always, ends with heartache. It’s happened too often to be coincidence, and now my fight-or-flight is kicking into high gear.
Nothing good will come from this.
“Thanks,” I mutter, squeezing the key into my palm, then pushing open the screen door while trying to block out all the other times the number twenty-two has filleted me wide open.
“Nice to meet you, Rowan.”
I pause, holding the door open with my finger, and he grins.
“I’ll see you tonight. My fiancée will be here, and so will Beck’s wife, and all the camp staff. We’re having a little welcome party at the dining hall followed by a bonfire.”
Wonderful.
I nod, then let the screen door slam with a deafening crack that makes me feel marginally better. Examining my surroundings, I follow his directions to the left of the building.
I’ll give it to Leo—the trails are carefully marked, and I find the Tabby Trail easily. Birds chirp overhead and the tree leaves rustle in the breeze.
Removing my phone from my back pocket, I open the camera app and point it to the sky. The trees create a canopy that the sun shines through, so I lower myself to one knee for a better angle that captures the sky and the sign marking the trail. This will be a perfect shot for Insta.
Not that anyone follows what I post. No one cares enough, but it’s not for them. These memories are for me. Adding a few filters, I press Done and stand back up.
It takes less than a second to realize I’m not alone.
Meow.
The freaking cat. I refuse to look down because if I do and I find I have a cat tailing me, a black cat at that, I’ll have to soak myself in holy water.
Meow, Lucky says again, because I know it’s Lucky, and he’s so insistent this time that I stomp my foot. He doesn’t even scamper away. No, this asshole sits between my feet as though he has every right to smear his bad luck all over me.
“I don’t need any more bad luck, Lucky. Can’t you follow someone else home?” I growl.
Meow. The furry beast figure eights around my ankles.
Dropping down into a squat, I pet the little fucker, then try to shoo him on his way, but his beady eyes follow me as I walk along the path. He and I have unfinished business—I sense it.
Something crackles in the bushes, and Lucky, the scaredy-cat, runs off, leaving me with my whispering trees.
Closing my eyes, I tilt my face to the sky and inhale deeply. It’s been years since I’ve spent any time in the woods—not since Pappy’s camp—and those were the happiest times of my life.
I used to be able to hear music in my head out here that no one else could hear. It was magical. Now when I listen, all Ihear is noise—voices, accusations, and threats have replaced the melodies in my mind. It’s cruel, really, but that’s life.
Still no music. I sigh and open my eyes, then head down the trail.
The past hijacks my mind as I walk, flooding me with memories. It feels so real that when the activities center comes into view and a sad chorus I recognize hits my ears, I nearly trip over my own feet. The melody creates a riot in my mind that seizes control of all my limbs.
This song is a piece of me that died years ago. The melody is ingrained in the fiber of my very being because I’m the one who wrote it. It’s the song that ended my life as I knew it.
Trembling, I move forward with no intention of doing so, but this song, it calls to me through the pain.
Who’s playing it? I haven’t touched this song since I was a teenager. The key is off, and she’s only repeating the chorus, then adding her own words, but that chorus? Those words were once the touchstone of my life.
I slip through the open door, shocked to find a tiny girl sitting at the piano with hunched shoulders. The sadness pours off her just as it used to me. If it weren’t for her dark hair, this little girl could be me.
I’m staring at a ghost.
My body glides through the space as though each strike of a chord is pulling me closer, and when I’m able to reach the keys, I slide into place beside her without saying a word.
